Gregor and the ancient city
by Regaliansoldier98
Summary: Gregor comes back to the underland after 4 years and finds a new prophecy about an ancient enemy, and its not by who you might think. Rated T for major violence (Underland, Duh.), Mild language. Currently under revision
1. Chapter 1:After his death

**Hey everyone! Wow, it's been a long time since I worked on this story! I'll be revamping the chapters, and then hopefully continuing. Make sure to review!**

His feet slapped against the pavement as he ran. He didn't know where he was running, only what he was running from. His past. Slap! Slap! Slap! Faster and faster, his feet pounded against the ground, fast as he had in the caves full of oil. He ran faster, determined to outpace the memories that plagued him for four years. Four years of seclusion, four years of depression, four years of torture. Four years of reliving his best friend's death, four years of seeing her face, and four years of reliving their last goodbyes. Four years coping with his grandmother's loss, and four years living in the hellhole of Virginia. He could never run fast enough to put all that behind him, but he could still try. Kicking it up to a speed that Olympians would be jealous of, he sprinted, hitting the ground so hard, it would come as no surprise if the concrete were to crack beneath his feet. Suddenly, he stopped. There was no point in running any longer. He was running from the only thing that had ever brought him happiness. Sighing, he reached to his throat, touching the claw hanging around his neck.

"Ares," he whispered. "Fly you high, old friend. Fly you high." He reached to his pocket, and pulled out the square of laminated paper. It was faded, wrinkled, and torn after never leaving his side for four years, but the smiles of the boy and girl in the photo were unmistakable, and now he smiled again looking at it, though this smile was laced not with happiness, but nostalgia and sadness. He missed her so terribly. Shaking his head, he returned the photo to his pocket. It was ridiculous, he thought, that even the hell that was war was nothing compared to this. Dodging swords would almost be easier that being away from everyone he left behind, and he would rather eat a bullet than never see her again. After all, at least the bullet would be a quick, and painless, death. Snapping himself out of his trance, he once again began to run. Yet even he was aware of the tears forming in the corners of his eyes. They were old acquaintances, even friends. They, at least, were always there.

"Gregor!" his mom shouted. "Dinner is ready!". Gregor sighed, taking off his ear buds. Why did she have to go through charade of these "perfect family dinners" anyways? Couldn't she understand that their family was broken, broken far beyond repair? It was ridiculous that she could not see it, even when it was painstakingly obvious. At the end of his time in the underland, his family was still the most important thing to him, the thing that he had fought to keep together, but now they were strangers. He never knew what they were thinking, and they didn't have the slightest idea of his thoughts. They knew nothing, absolutely nothing, about his anger, his sadness, his love for the people he was torn away from. They would never be able to understand, even if they knew.

No, he thought, that wasn't entirely true. While Boots, or Meg as she liked to be called now, didn't remember anything about the underland (besides, of course, having a strange affection towards cockroaches, and the propensity for talking to said insects), every detail was recalled, remembered, and relived by Lizzie. His sister was, along with running, his only source of sanity. Unlike his mom, who would shut him out at the mere mention of the underland, Lizzie was happy to talk, to share stories, and even keep in touch with Mrs. Cormaci, and through her, the underland. The last one of these though, was one thing that Gregor was not so fond of.

"Lizzie," he had said a million times, writing them is not going to bring us back to New York. Yet she still wrote anyways, passing on to Gregor the messages Luxa sent. And always, Gregor would discard them without reading them. Gregor's mother was enthused at this, it being the first sign of moving on, but Lizzie wasn't so sure. She knew he would always want to see them again, but the memories were just too painful for him. He couldn't stand to be away from them for so long, and trade only letters. Still, she had to try, every time.

"Open it!" Lizzie would urge, each time she passed along a message. Each time, he would shake his head sadly. "What if it's Luxa? What if she wants to see you again?" she continued. He didn't say a word, no matter how many times this happened. He simply reached over, and dropped the scroll into his wastebasket. Over four years, the pile of discarded messages grew, and so did the sea around him, leaving him on an island of his own, the hope of him rejoining everyone else decreasing each time he received a scroll.

This particular night, though, as he reached to discard the scroll, as was his ritual, he noticed the scrawling letters on the side that read,

_Gregor, I know you have not received any of my previous letters, but I need your help. Please read this if it arrives._

_-Luxa_

Solemnly, he broke the ribbon binding the scroll. Reading it over slowly, methodically, he pored over the words. When he reached the end, his eyes grew wide, and the grief he felt gave way to anger, hatred towards a man he didn't know. He knew nothing about the man behind the name, only the name itself, dripping with malice.

Damien.

**Wow, I think that that is a lot, lot , lot more powerful than the original first chapter. Yes, it is short, but short and powerful is, in my opinion, much better than long and pointless.**


	2. Chapter 2: Visions

_He was running, running for his life. Behind him, all he could see was a shadow of a massive beast, chasing him through the stone tunnel. From the back of the beast, a loud crack rang out, as the tunnel was bathed in light. From behind him, a ball of steel whizzed right past his head, grazing his right ear. Quickly reaching a hand to his ear, he then drew it back, coated in blood. He continued running from his pursuer, but his speed was no match for this giant creature. Suddenly, he was back above the ground. In front of him, two men stood, body blades in their hands. A scream rent the very air apart, and before the two knew, they laid dead on the ground, next to the dead woman. Their killer stood above them, a smirk on his face, and pain in his eyes. Suddenly, he dropped the knife he held, and fell to his knees. Tears filled his eyes, and his fists curled, his nails digging into his palms until they bled, but he didn't notice. And now, he was in a wide room, with hundreds watching him. He drew his sword, but felt a pain in his knee, and saw the metal ball embedded in the bone. Gritting his teeth, he rose and charged the man opposite him. He threw his elbow into the man's jaw, knocking him to the ground. The man laid on the ground, as he held a blade to his throat. Tears, as well as rage, warped the downed man's face, and he screamed at the victor who shook his head sadly and dropped his sword. Yet, the sword was in his hand once more, and the man he nearly killed stood next to him, as they faced a man wielding two blades. With a few deft movements, the man had disarmed him, and held him by the throat. Gasping for breath, he drew his dagger and shoved it through his own chest, into the chest of the other man. He felt the stab wound in his chest, and everything went black. The last thing he knew was words ringing in his head. _

_If peace was won, _

_The warrior lost, _

_A treaty made,_

_Not without cost,_

_Ancient misdeeds come to light,_

_Darkening eternal night,_

_A shrinking chance peace can be found,_

_Enemies share common ground._

_Both of under,_

_Yet one of above, _

_Share bond of undying love._

_One, heir of ancestral wrong,_

_The other's lineage just as strong,_

_A king, a queen, a broken throne,_

_Both guilt they bear,_

_And blame they own._

_Ancient misdeeds come to light,_

_Darkening eternal night,_

_A shrinking chance peace can be found,_

_Enemies share common ground._

_Two people, allied, _

_Torn asunder,_

_Over rules_

_The land of under._

_Now lost, it comes_

_Their time, their turn,_

_Their mountains move,_

_They slash, they burn._

_Ancient misdeeds come to light,_

_Darkening eternal night,_

_A shrinking chance peace can be found,_

_Enemies share common ground._

_The two, _

_The only chance that's left_

_When enemies, _

_Allies bereft,_

_Mount attack where_

_They once called home, _

_The city of_

_Eternal stone._

_The graves that stand,_

_Where we now tread,_

_Will overfill,_

_The ground runs red._

_Unless a treaty_

_Soon does stand,_

_War will bring death to the underland._

Drenched in sweat, Gregor awoke, shocked by what had just happened. Was it even possible? Could he have had a vision of what was to come? He shook his head dismissing such notions. Only Nerissa could see the future, and it was incredibly an incredibly unpredictable ability. No, it had to be just a dream, yet, it was so vivid. And that man, the one he had killed in his dream, the one who almost killed him, seemed so familiar to him. He tried to call the picture of the man back to mind, and what he saw of the man's face terrified him. While a lot rougher and aged, it was so similar, it was nearly identical to his father's.

**And, cut! Thanks for reading, That was the revised chapter 2 of Gregor and the Ancient City. Hope you enjoyed. This chapter was extremely confusing, but it will make much more sense later on. Regaliansoldier signing off now, see ya all later, and fly you high.**


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